


An Alternate Path

by TokyoDAZE



Category: The Beatles
Genre: AU, F/M, Grief, Mourning, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokyoDAZE/pseuds/TokyoDAZE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A speculation on what would've happened if Astrid died in 1962 instead of Stuart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alternate Path

  
Stuart sighed, squeezing his right arm with his left shoulder and staring blankly up at the ceiling, then pulling a pillow above his face. The sun was going to set within the hour and he was so exhausted. He knew exhaustion—even welcomed it like a friend, as it made him determined to work. It came when he toiled away at his work in the corners of the night, beckoning him with the prospect of rest and food. His response was always the same—he would decline. That gave him a spiritual uplift. It was wonderful.

But lately, he had been exhausted for other reasons than painting. And it didn’t motivate him in the slightest. Quite the opposite, in fact.

⁂

_“STUAAAAAAAART!” She wailed, clutching locks of her short blonde hair in her fingers. Keeled over on the kitchen floor before the shattered remnants of a teacup, Stuart could hear her attempts to breathe from the next room. He immediately set down his novel on the coffee table and scampered to the kitchen, wincing when his bare soles met the broken glass on the floor, but forced himself to ignore that stinging pain to help his lover. “What’s wrong, Astrid? Please breathe slowly… slowly… what hurts? Oh God… Please don’t let it be too bad...” In a few moments, he sounded just as panicked as her._

_“My head!” She sobbed. “It hurts s-so much!” To see her suffer so much… wrenched Stuart’s heart in two._

_“Let me call your mum… please… calm down… Astrid, it’s gonna…” He choked. He was lying. “It’s gonna be alright… I promise…” Stuart was not the strongest of his kind, obviously, but his determination let him pull Astrid up into his arms bridal-style over the shimmering shards of the cup and carry her to her room, where he gently set her down on her bed; she screamed all that way, and couldn’t stop._

_“IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” Astrid shrieked, arching her back and yanking on her hair. Stuart took hold of one of her hands, violently trembling in his grasp, and held it, willing that she might calm down._

_“It’s going to be alright,” He murmured, trying to swallow his heartache. He reluctantly let go of her hand. “I’m going to call your mum now. Just… be good, okay? I know you can do this. I know.” He got up and continued out, tracking blood on the floor as he left. With his heart pounding in his throat, he staggered to the living room, his book abandoned, and reached for the phone. With a quivering hand, he dialed his soon-to-be mother-in-law’s number and prayed she would pick up._

_“Stuart?”_

_“Hello mum. I’m sorry. Astrid… is falling again. I can tell it really hurts. Can you come home? I’m going to call an ambulance after this, just so you know.” He could hear Astrid’s clamoring grow louder, and the anguish she was feeling was like a tumor growing in his heart. “Please hurry. Thank you. Bye.” And hung up._

_Quickly, he dialed the emergency number and requested—well, demanded—for an ambulance. He felt urged to return to the damsel in torment upstairs, and it felt like forever before the call finally ended. The split second the phone clicked, he slammed it down on the table and sprinted back upstairs to Astrid’s room._

_“STUAAAART!!!” She sobbed, face wet with tears._

_“It’s okay, my love. I’m here. Please… Oh god, no… Don’t… don’t cry, okay? I called an ambulance. They’ll take care of this once and for all. You can do this.” He choked back tears of his own. Why did it feel as if he were lying?_

⁂

Stuart turned over in his bed, otherwise barely having any will to move. The cuts in his feet from the glass hadn’t even healed. He kept thinking about that incident and all those in the months before it. Astrid had been having headaches—headaches that turned into blackouts and blackouts that turned into seizures. Sometimes she was left blind for a while, and Stuart would have to help her here and there—that is, when she could walk at all. He exhaled, feeling helpless to do anything. He had had so little time to paint lately. The last coat he applied to his works in progress actually had time to dry.

⁂

_Stuart felt hope flood his eyes when he heard sirens wailing outside the house. Astrid had eventually stopped screaming, now her eyes were closed and crying and her futile attempts to breathe were the only sign of life that pulsed from her body—she was barely anything but skin and bones now, and he could only just sense a shallow, nervous heartbeat in her chest. Murmuring words of comfort to his dearest, he picked her up and carried her outside to the ambulance waiting for them._

_It was a rickety old thing—he had seen better in Liverpool, but anything could help. A cot on wheels had already been placed outside the doors of that thing, and he was instructed to place her on it. The cot was rolled inside the vehicle by a pair of men in white uniforms. Without request, he climbed into the ambulance with her—those men nodded, silently permitting him and closed the door._

_Then they were off. Stuart held Astrid close to himself, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. He felt desperate for her now, and he willed with all his might for her to live. Keep living._

_Life was everything to that couple. They pondered life and wandered through it, trying to reach even its murkiest depths to find out just how to live. A life was precious._

_And now hers was about to end._

_“It’s okay,” Stuart whispered over the roar of the ambulance, trying to prove otherwise—whether for Astrid or for himself, he was unsure. “Everything will be alright. It’s gonna… You’re gonna… gonna live, okay? Come on. I love you. You can’t…”_

_“St… u… art…” Her voice was so timid and weak—a twig about to snap. It seemed as if she had already accepted her fate. “G… ood… by… e...”_

_“Astrid, no… Don’t say that… no…”_

_“... I… lo… ve… y… ou…… you… w… ill… be… alr… ight… wi… tho… ut… m… e...”_

_“Astrid!” He grew more frantic and held her tight. “Don’t talk like that! I know… I know you can make it, darling! Please, do this for me!”_

_“I’ll… mi… ss… yo… u…”_

_“ASTRID!”_

_“T… ake… ca… re… o… f… th… e… boys…… o… kay…?”_

_“Astrid…” He squeezed her hand, dew forming in his eyes. However horrible the pain in her head was, the pain in his heart was worse. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. Don’t forgive me for this...”_

_“... It… ‘s… n… ot… y… our… f… au… lt…”_

_“I’m so sorry…” He lifted her head and kissed her gently for the last time. “Goodbye… Astrid. I will always love you.” She smiled a sickly pale smile, looking up at her one true love. Her eyes were already beginning to fade with death, and her trembling was slowing down. Using the last of her strength, she could only speak once more._

_“... G… oo…… db…… y…………… e…………………….…”_

⁂

Stuart squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a sob. Parts of the blanket still had hours’ worth of small dark blotches where tears had escaped his eyes and spread onto the fabric—fabric that still had Astrid’s scent on them. He breathed in the familiar smell, knowing one day it would fade away into nothing and there would be nothing left of it.

What _would_ be left of Astrid anyway? There would be the photographs she took and the photographs of herself, though those were sparing and would be lost eventually. Much of her clothes were still hanging in her closet—those also had her scent mixed with Stu’s, as they had shared those outfits. Now he would be the only one wearing those. There were letters she wrote and things she put in her room—those would be lost, too.

It seemed as if nothing were permanent in that world, and Stuart felt all the more hopeless. Eventually, all he would have left of her was the aching reality of her missing presence.

Stuart had been considering taking his own life if it meant being with her again. He wondered how many pills he would have to swallow or how many bottles of liquor he would have to drink or even how deeply he would have to cut his wrist in order to lose enough blood to die. He wondered if the tree branch in Astrid’s room would support a noose and wondered how easily he could acquire a gun to shoot himself with. Anyway, it would mean he would be with her again, wherever she was.

But then he would remember: _“T… ake… ca… re… o… f… th… e… boys…… o… kay…?”_ and the thoughts would die down—it wasn’t as if he had the strength to kill himself anyway. Stuart didn’t want to break that promise to Astrid, but he felt so exhausted and could barely even take care of himself, let alone his friends. It was Astrid’s mother who cooked and brought meals to the attic, though the food almost always remained untouched by his hand, left there on the nightstand until it was too cold to eat.

⁂

_Klaus accompanied him to the airport the next day. The Beatles were conveniently about to start their next tour, though George was sick and wouldn’t arrive until the next day on another plane. Stuart had written home to his mother about Astrid’s death, the pen trembling in a grisly manner as he scrawled his misgivings down onto the parchment._

_He felt so weak—he hadn’t left his bed since he had returned home from the hospital the night before nor had he eaten properly at all, and had to steady himself on Klaus’ arm in order to stand properly. The older man was gentle and comforting, remaining quiet as they waited for their friends’ plane to land._

_“GUTEN TAG!” A loud voice Stuart knew all too well made its way through the midspring air. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, wishing he could go back home and sleep. Maybe if he slept long enough, he’d wake up to Astrid by his side and the realization that all of this was nothing more than a horrible dream._

_“John…” He swayed on his feet, his grip on Klaus’ sleeve tightening. The guitarist was followed by Pete and Paul._

_“Hey, guys, what’s the matter?” Paul half-grinned slightly, looking a bit concerned but energetic nevertheless. “Ye be lookin’ rather ill.”_

_“Paul… John… Pete…” Klaus inhaled and exhaled, trembling slightly. “We must tell you about something. Come on…” He started back towards the car, Stuart gripping him weakly._

_“What is it, huh?” Pete chuckled and followed them, not seeing the seriousness in the moods of the two bohemians. “Come on, tell. Did Stu and Astrid finally get around to finding a day for their wedding?”_

_The mention of Astrid’s name sent a surging blade of agony straight through Stuart’s abdomen. He couldn’t take it anymore—he convulsed, letting go of Klaus’ sleeve, and dropped to his knees, tears overflowing. His entire body shook violently with uncontrollable sobs, and the three band members watched in disbelief and confusion as he writhed on the ground, his pain pulsing forth._

_“Hey, hey, what’s this all about?” John approached him, wondering if Pete had said something wrong._

_“I’m really sorry, everyone,” Klaus got down and hugged Stuart tenderly. “This is what we tell you. Astrid has not been feeling for months. I’m sure you know—she must’ve looked very sick when they came to visit you… recently. She kept getting worse, and nobody knew why. And just yesterday… she… she died.”_

_Silence._

_“I’m really sorry, everyone.” Klaus repeated helplessly, pulling Stuart up. The little artist stumbled to his feet, still wailing. “We already told Stuart’s mum and Georgie. Astrid’s mum is making a funeral-service soon… if you want to go.”_

_“No… no way…” John’s voice was hoarse. He wanted to believe it was all some sort of joke, but the way Stuart was crying… it was impossible. “How can… How could Astrid possibly be dead?”_

_“Tha-a-at’s wh-what… I… kee-eep… ask… i-ing… myself…” Stuart choked, gritting his teeth. He had been crying so much, his eyes were aching. “How… cou-uld sh-she… be… g-gone…?”_

_“Oh, Stuart…” Paul quivered, feeling genuine remorse for the student. “I… I’m so sorry…”_

_Stuart sniffled, feeling as if he were about to pass out from exhaustion. His throat felt too swollen to answer to anyone now. Instead, he closed his eyes, his lids feeling sticky with tears._

_“Come on, everyone,” Klaus urged quietly. “Let’s go home.”_

⁂

None of the band members attended the funeral service. It made Stuart a little upset to think that they didn’t care enough, but, he admitted to himself, it wasn’t exactly as if he were present either. He was standing before the podium, dressed completely in black and holding a small bouquet of crimson red roses that shivered in his weak hands and listening to a speaker give a speech about Astrid in German, but he wasn’t _really_ there; wasn’t _really_ listening. At the time, his mind was wandering and wanted to be anywhere but the funeral service. Where he went, he could not recall, but it was far away from there, so it didn’t matter.

Stuart collected the blanket and burrowed into the sheets. It really was so unfair. Astrid was a youthful, good soul. She didn’t deserve such an agonizing, slow death in the slightest. He turned on his back, once again staring at the ceiling.

Suddenly, he could hear two pairs of footsteps making their way up the creaking stairs. Stuart sighed. _Please don’t come here… leave me alone._

But the door opened with an soiled groan, and the faces of the two intruders belonged to John and George. Stuart turned away, facing the wall.

John stared at him. “Hey there, Stu.”

“...”

“C’mon, Stuart,” George came closer and sat down on the bed. “Talk to us.”

“...”

“Please?”

Stuart didn’t want to be rude, but he didn’t have the energy to talk. “... Hm.”

“Listen, Stu…” John sighed and sat down on the bed next to George. “We’re really sorry about what happened to Astrid. We just… wanted to stop by, and… see how yer’ coping with all this. See if yer’ okay.”

“The love of my life is dead.” Stuart choked out, feeling a searing pain in his chest. “How could I possibly be okay? I’ll never see her again. I’ll never be okay as long as I live. Oh, my darling Astrid...”

“... Stu…”

“Just, y’know…” He retaliated, hugging the pillow tightly. “I wonder… why it couldn’t have been me instead…”

John and George exchanged sorrowful looks. They knew Stuart would go through all of that pain for Astrid in a heartbeat. But it was too late now—the damage was done. That lovely photographer would never snap another memory again.

“I couldn’t save her...” Stuart gritted his teeth.

“It’s not yer fault, Stu.”

“I COULDN’T FUCKIN’ SAVE HER!” Stuart sat up and screamed. After a long, deathly pause, Stuart brought his hands up to his head and buried his face in his palms, sobbing violently. George reached over and rubbed his back comfortingly.

“Stu, trust me on this.” John murmured, his words harsh but strengthening. “There was nothing you could’ve done that would’ve saved Astrid. Sometimes life’s a bitch like that and all ye can do is live n’ let die. One day, you’ll see her again and get yer bloody happy ending but until then, you can finish art school and be the fuckin’ brilliant artist you are and put yer name in the history textbooks. I’m sure she’ll watch you all the way, and she’ll be so proud of what a bleedin’ fantastic fiancé she’s got. So don’t give up, okay?”

Stuart sniffled, looking up at him. _All the way, huh?_ He couldn’t imagine living a life without Astrid. If everything went according to plan and he didn’t get into some freak accident, he had at least fifty or so years to go before he would ever see her again. That was a long time, and so overwhelmingly too. He lied back down on the pillow, feeling helpless.

“Come now, Stu,” George smiled warmly. “Astrid wouldn’t want you to be sad, right? There’s still a lot more to do.”

Stuart could only nod halfheartedly. He hoped it was true that she would be watching over him. The thought was surreal, but it comforted him. He promised himself right then and there that he would make her proud.

“Okay, then,” John stood up and stretched. “Glad we could have this talk, Stu. We’re gonna go and practice our new set now. Wanna come and watch?”

“No thank you,” He closed his eyes and exhaled softly.

“Okay, your call.” George got up as well and headed for the door. “Take care of yerself, eh? We’ll visit again soon. Promise!”

Stuart didn’t acknowledge their farewells. He sunk back into the bed, hoping sleep would soon overtake him. He had yet to accept this new reality without his beloved by his side, but it was setting in piece by piece. One day, perhaps, a long time from now, he would look back and realize he had learned a valuable lesson. About what exactly was yet to be discovered, and he wasn’t looking to find out any time soon. In any case, it meant decades would pass before he and Astrid would meet again, and until then, he would continue painting and singing and walking and breathing and all the things that came with life. That was alright.

Somewhere, in the dark, murky depths of death, the photographer was resting quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> I sold my soul to the devil himself writing this piece. Y'all better like it.
> 
> Notes:  
> *In our world, Stuart was already comatose on the ambulance. I wanted Astrid to be conscious in her last living moments for the sake of dialogue.  
> *John doesn't have a meltdown at the airport because his relationship with Astrid isn't as deep as the one he has with Stuart in our world.  
> *John and George's visit correlates to them visiting Astrid a few days after Stuart's death in our world. This is when Astrid took the high-contrast photos of them in her attic. That doesn't happen here because, well, there is no Astrid to take the photos.  
> *Stuart grieves more violently than Astrid because he doesn't reserve his emotions as well as she does.  
> *I'm considering writing a follow-up fic than spans forward a few years, speculating Stuart's growth as an artist and friend of the Beatles.


End file.
